


Smoak and Arrows

by someclarafication



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Gen, Olicity if you squint, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-01-27 03:23:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1713134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someclarafication/pseuds/someclarafication
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slightly AU: A trio of mysterious crime-fighters has set the Starling City vigilante on edge, especially when they keep popping up at his crime scenes and finishing the job before he even gets a chance to draw one of his precious green arrows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Break In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Arrow shows up at Queen Consolidated ready to beat up some bad guys, but finds that his job's already been done for him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anybody or anything you might recognize...all characters belong to DC Comics and the majority of them belong to CW's Arrow.

The lobby was dark and silent, the only light coming from the city lights outside shining through the large glass walls. The night guards sat at their posts, ever diligent, the one aimlessly swinging his baton as the other watched the non-eventful security footage. All was well.

* * *

 

The trio watched from the shadows of a rooftop as a group of bulky figures walked up to the building. One of the men stepped up to the doors and smashed through the glass. The group swarmed into the lobby of Queen Consolidated, taking down the security with sickening efficiency. The three glanced at each other, speaking without words before making the jump across the gap between their rooftop and the office building. The tallest one shot a grappler across the divide, and grabbing hold of the other two, they jumped together, crashing through a window on the fourteenth floor. They landed in different ways, the tall one on his feet, the other two jumping off and rolling over the broken glass. With a grimace, the middle one brushed the pieces off his clothes, his thick leather gloves providing extra protection. The two looked over at their third teammate, not surprised to see the smallest one already up and moving towards the stairwell across the floor.

They walked through the doorway as one, and froze together when they heard the sound of heavy footsteps tromping up the staircase. The team molded themselves into the shadows, waiting for the right moment before moving again—this time following the mercenaries up the steps as silently as ghosts. The hired men stopped at the seventeenth floor, taking a moment to cock their heads at the keypad lock before one of them solved the problem for the rest of them. He stepped forward, and without a second's hesitation, shot through the handle, effectively breaking the lock better than any technological hacker. The smallest of the team members' jaw tightened at the sight, and the other two looked over to see blue eyes flashing dangerously behind the mask.

The tall one nodded at his teammates, and they waited for the group to make their way onto the IT floor before each began preparing for the fight ahead. The tallest one pulled a retracting metal staff from his pocket while the middle one removed the gloves from his hands. The smallest one merely stood still, ever observant, content to scan the stairwell for hidden threats while the other two got ready. At the collective nod, they went forward, moving together in perfect synchronization, knowing the others' steps and positions as well as their own. They stopped in the middle of the floor, standing still between cubicles and conference rooms and offices. And then, the silence erupted into a frenzy of chaos.

With a shout, the trio split, each facing off against a number of mercenaries, there being more than any of them realized. The tall one was a menace, using his staff for both balance and power as he fought against three men twice his size. The middle one was unbelievably different, his hands emitting a strange, almost supernatural glow as he took on three men as well. The small one was the most surprising of all, whirling and jumping and fighting in a way that resembled a macabre sort of dance before taking care of the remaining two hired men. Panting, the little fighter practically dove towards the open office door that the bad guys had come from, and began furiously tapping at the keys, rushing to stop the fatal virus that had been installed on the company system. When silence reigned again, and the other two team members stepped into the doorway of the office, the hacker's shoulders relaxed marginally. They stood watching their teammate from the doorway, replacing their weapons and gloves and fixing skewed masks.

"Smoak, you've got seven minutes and forty-three seconds before SCPD gets here," the tallest one warned.

"I know, Storm, but these idiots got a little bit further than I'd hoped," came the irritated reply as Smoak's brows scrunched.

"No need to get snarky, Smoaks, we're just a little on edge," the middle one tried to sooth. "We all know that the police department is not who we necessarily have to worry about."

"And I don't know about you guys, but honestly," Storm groaned as he stretched his bruised muscles, "I really don't feel up to going against the Starling City Vigilante—even if he has supposedly changed his ways."

Smoak snorted, "Oh please, we all know that if the Hood or Arrow or whatever it is he's calling himself these days drops in, you'll just go hide in the corner and let Fire do all the hard work."

Storm sputtered in protest as Fire chuckled, and Smoak turned back to the computer with a smirk, focusing on the nearly dead virus. Just as the computer whiz reached to hit the key that would kill the bug, the sound of glass shattering as something heavy crashed through it had the team ducking instinctively for cover. Smoak raised an arm automatically, missing the sound of rushing air before crying out in excruciating pain. The arm came crashing down and the fighter had to bite back the scream of agony at the sight of a green arrow embedded in the shoulder. Turning back to the computer, Smoak extended a finger towards the enter button before snatching it back with a hiss and a scowl at the arrow protruding from the wooden desk, mere inches from where the hacker's wrist had been seconds before.

"Step away from the computer," came the device-modulated voice.

Smoak's mouth distorted into a snarl, teeth bared like an alley cat, but Storm spoke up instead—his voice a low, warning growl. "What are you going to do? Put arrows in us? I think you've already wasted enough tonight, don't you?"

"I'm not going to say this again," the vigilante shouted. His fingers tightened on the bow already stretched taut, arrow ready to fly. "Step away from the computer."

Fire replied this time, stepping up to stand next to Storm, effectively creating a barrier between the man in the hood and their smaller team member. "No. And I really wouldn't try shooting that—you're just going to regret it."

The Arrow stood stiff, his mouth a thin line just visible from the light shining through the floor-to-ceiling window. While they were distracted, Smoak clenched a fist, and with closed eyes and a silent prayer, tore the arrow from its spot in the shoulder. A strangled cry escaped from the fighter's lips and fingers clenched around the arrow shaft as the others spun to face their fallen team member. With a grunt, Smoak braced an arm against the desk and stood, slamming a finger down on the "enter" key. Blue eyes clashed with the vigilante's, and Smoak cried out before throwing the arrow at his head with frightening accuracy. He dodged it, nocking a new one in his bow in one fluid motion and aiming it right at Smoak's face. Before anyone could move or say anything, the smallest one spoke up-to the surprise of everyone there.

"I really wouldn't shoot that if I were you. In fact, I would suggest that unless you want to waste the rest of your arrows, you really shouldn't let anymore loose at me." Smoak's mouth hardened into a thin line full of pain, "because I promise, I'm not that easy to get rid of."

He stared at Smoak, seemingly speechless, while Fire and Storm looked on. When it was apparent the vigilante wasn't about to say anything, Smoak continued. "And besides, Arrow, you should actually be thanking me right now. If it weren't for my extraordinary hacking skills, Queen Consolidated would literally be ruined beyond repair and thousands of people would lose their jobs. So technically, I'm a bit of a hero." Smoak shot him a self-satisfied grin before adding, "oh, and we can't forget about how the three of us took care of those mercen-"

"You're a girl." His voice held no question, though his surprise was evident.

Smoak shrugged, though the dangerous glint in her blue eyes suggested anything but nonchalance. When he didn't move and continued the whole not-speaking thing, her eyes narrowed and she stepped towards him, her posture predatory and threatening, despite the acute pain in her shoulder. He kept his bow up and at the ready, tightening his fingers as she drew closer. They held each other's eyes in hostile glares, while her teammates stood tense and ready behind her. "You got a problem with that, vigilante?"

He never broke eye contact, and neither did she. Just as she thought he was going to lower his bow and they would either move past this and let her go fix the arrow-hole in her shoulder or go at each other and allow her to prove her capabilities as a fighter, the sound of police sirens broke the tense silence. The four of them turned to the broken windows, and Fire rushed to look out and down. He turned back to the group and nodded at his teammates. Turning back to face the vigilante, Smoak invaded his personal space.

"We're going to go, and if you really want to prove that you've changed your ways, you'll let us leave without wasting anymore of your precious green arrows."

He glared down at her and didn't respond. Taking his silence as consent, she motioned for Fire and Storm to head out. As she turned to follow her team, he grabbed her elbow and pulled her back. She couldn't suppress the growl of pain that escaped her lips as her injured shoulder burned in protest at the sudden movement.

He lowered his head to growl in her ear. "This isn't over. I will find you and next time, I won't show so much restraint."

She scoffed, and her furious, pain-laced blue eyes met his. "Trust me, I'm looking forward to it." She withdrew her arm from his grasp and smirked at him. "It'll be fun to prove the famous Starling City Vigilante can be beaten by a girl." Smoak turned and sauntered as best she could towards the stairwell. Before she left, she threw back over her shoulder, "Until next time, Arrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is my first fanfiction that I've posted on here, but I thought I'd give it a try. Hope you enjoyed the story, and leave me some feedback! Thanks, guys :)
> 
> ~Clara


	2. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a further glimpse of the mysterious trio, and our favorite vigilante rants about them to a certain ex-army soldier...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't even own a car, so no. All characters belong to DC Comics, the main players belong to CW's Arrow

 "God, Smoaks, you're getting heavy. You really gotta start layin' off the Big Belly Burger," Storm grunted as he carried her up the stairs of her apartment.

"Why, 'cause it's giving me a big belly?" Smoak grimaced, her voice weak and laced with pain.

On the way back home, the girl had collapsed, and the team realized that she had lost more blood than any of them noticed. With a muttered curse directed at the vigilante, Storm had lifted her up and was carrying her bridal style while Fire had walked ahead of them, watching out for threats. Now he held a hand out to the other two while he cleared the apartment. When he made sure all was well, he motioned for Storm to bring her in. He laid Smoak on the couch so she was sitting up and sat on the coffee table in front of her. Shoving off both his mask and hers, he drew a switchblade from his boot and cut her shirtsleeve at the seam. He saw her face twist in pain as a cry escaped from her lips. In a moment, Fire was beside him, wielding a syringe full of anesthetic, a wooden spoon, and Smoak's first-aid kit. He passed Storm the spoon before carefully cleaning and numbing the area around Smoak's wound. Storm pressed the spoon into Smoak's mouth before grabbing hold of both her hands in each of his own. She locked her ice blue gaze on him and he made sure not to look away as Fire sterilized the needle and began stitching up the hole in her shoulder.

Smoak gripped Storm's hands with all of her strength and bit down hard on the spoon—her cries coming out garbled and rough and ugly. Storm winced, but continued on as though nothing had happened. Fire kept his eyes on Smoak's shoulder, completely focused on weaving the thread and needle in and out in perfectly even stitches. When he finished, he cut the end of the thread and taped a large piece of gauze across the ugly red line. Glancing at Smoak's face, he dumped a handful of pills from a pain medicine bottle and held two out for Storm to take. The tallest one swiped the pills and switched them out for the wooden spoon. Smoak swallowed them together and grimaced one last time before passing out from the pain in her shoulder.

* * *

 

The Starling City vigilante didn't bother shutting the door politely as he made his way down to his foundry, instead letting it slam behind him. His mouth was set in a hard, unforgiving line, and John Diggle watched in silence as he slammed his bow down on one of the metal tables. He was breathing heavily, and Digg waited for his friend to calm himself before speaking.

"What happened?"

"Someone—some people—got there before me. Whoever they were took out eight mercenaries and managed to destroy whatever virus those mercs had put on the computers," the vigilante replied.

"So, what, you run into them or something?" Digg questioned. "Were you able to get any sort of ID or anything?"

"I put an arrow in one of them," the Arrow quipped, as close to a mocking expression on his face as he could get.

Diggle rolled his eyes and tried to keep his frustration out of his voice. "That's great, Oliver, but what use is that if there's no way to track them? Did you manage to get a blood sample at least?"

Oliver merely looked at Digg as he held out a bloody arrow, careful not to touch anything with his bare fingers. "Diggle, send this to a lab and have it analyzed to identify who the blood belongs to?"

"I'll get right on it." Digg carefully took hold of the arrow and walked away to grab a Ziploc bag to transport it.

Oliver watched his friend for a moment before leaning over to pick up a dirty, sun-dried brown notebook, flipping through the pages of names before stopping at the one he was looking for. Drawing a pen from his chest pocket, he crossed out the name and dropped the book back on the table. He looked up, staring at nothing, and remembered a pair of fiery blue eyes behind a black mask. He shook his head to rid himself of the memory and moved to get in a few hours' work out, seeing as how there were no more bad guys to arrow that night.

* * *

Smoak awoke to the sounds of people bustling around in her kitchen and early morning sunlight streaming in through the living room window. Opening her eyes slowly, she caught sight of a large glass of water and a light green apple. Smiling, she started to push herself up into a sitting position before crying out at the sudden surge of pain in her shoulder. Wincing, the events of the night before came rushing into her mind and she let herself flop back down on her couch. When that only pained her even more, she figured she might as well just try and go back to sleep. The world started going black around the edges and she saw the blurry outline of her friends stepping in front of her.

* * *

"You think we should try and wake her up?"

"Would you want to be woken up after having to fight off a bunch of mercenaries, pull an arrow out of your own shoulder, endure a host of painful stitches because there wasn't enough anesthesia to numb the whole shoulder, and then passing out from exhausted pain?"

There was a beat of silence before the younger voice sighed in reply, "yeah, I guess when you put it that way…"

Smoak groaned as she peeled her eyes open. "If you don't want to wake me up, then try keeping your voices down, dingbats."

Storm's deep chuckle brought her eyes to him. "Trust you to be sassy when waking up after twelve hours of passed-out sleep.

"It's how I roll, yo," she smiled as her friends laughed. "So what did you make for me to eat?" She slowly sat up, groaning and wincing as she did, and shot Storm a grateful smile when he gently put an arm out to steady her.

"Well my dear Felicity, we just so happen to have...your favorite." With a flourish, Fire presented a takeout bag from Big Belly, the burgers and fries still warm.

She grinned and reached her uninjured arm to take it from him. Stuffing a couple fries in her mouth, she chomped on them before replying with a heartfelt, "Ronnie I swear to God you're the best friend ever."

"Ew, dude, there's such a thing as swallowing before you speak. C'mon, didn't you graduate kindergarten early?" Storm stuck his tongue out in disgust as he passed Ronnie and handed Felicity a special-made mint chocolate chip milkshake.

She squealed in delight, but swallowed her bite of burger before receiving the malt. "Oh Ed, you know you're my bestest friend ever, though. No need to be jealous," she teased, patting his hand comfortingly.

Ronnie let out a bark of laughter as Ed rolled his eyes, watching Felicity with a wary look, as though worried she would keel over at any moment. The younger boy plopped down on the couch next to Felicity and turned on the television, eager to watch the movie they'd set up to have ready for when she woke up. Ed sat there watching the two of them a little longer, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth as he listened to their banter. Finally, he got up and turned off the main lights before settling down next to Felicity. He draped his arm across the back of the couch, careful not to jostle her injured shoulder, and got comfortable, a smile playing on his face the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late, but, well, school and summer and excuses and stuff. Hope you enjoyed, would love to hear some feedback! Thanks, guys.
> 
> ~Clara


	3. Meet Felicity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The iconic meet-cute and a more sarcastic second meeting...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, and I definitely don't own Oliver and Felicity's first meeting. I lifted the dialogue from the episode, so, yeah, all that jazz belongs to the writers of CW's Arrow.

Oliver Queen was a billionaire. And with that came certain…perks. Never having to wait out in the rain for a taxi, for example. Or never having to stand in line at a restaurant or club for an obscene amount of time, like say, fifteen minutes. Or even never having to worry about dropping a phone or laptop or tablet and breaking it, because he could always just go back out and buy a new one. Which is why it came as an absolute surprise when Felicity Smoak walked in on him waiting by her desk first thing on a Wednesday morning, holding a battered black utility laptop in one hand and nursing a steaming cup of coffee with the other. She was so surprised, in fact, that she almost dropped her own grandé pumpkin-spice latte. Luckily, she caught herself at the last second, and was able to (somewhat) calmly step around him to place her things on top of her desk, careful to not move her right arm too much.

He straightened when she passed, and she turned to face him. At the clash of two pairs of blue eyes, Felicity froze, unable to form any coherent thought. He was handsome, though that was no surprise, what with all the pictures of him in the tabloids, but she never imagined that his good looks would transfer  _quite_  so well to his actual person. He was built, with short, close-cropped, dirty-blond hair and a bit of scruff on his jaw. His own blue eyes seemed deep and fathomless, though at the moment, they held nothing more than a polite blankness. He cleared his throat and she winced, realizing that she'd just been staring at him while lost in her thoughts. "Felicity Smoak?"

"Yep, that's me." She smiled at him, trying to push past her embarrassment.

"Hi. I'm Oliver Queen," he smiled back, though she noticed that it seemed a little forced.

"Oh, I know who you are, you're Mr. Queen." She made an exaggerated face when she said his name, and then inwardly cursed herself for her awkwardness.

" _No_ , Mr. Queen was my father." He hesitated for a beat, "please, call me Oliver."

"Right, because he drowned. I mean he died." Her eyes widened in horror. "But you lived. Which is why you're here…listening to me babble…which will totally stop. In three…two…one." She sent him a tight smile and shook her head in silent self-reprobation.

He smiled at her, a real—albeit small—one, and his voice betrayed his amusement as he drew the laptop and handed it to her. "So I was in one of my favorite coffee shops when I spilled a latte all over my computer. I heard that you were the best at with these types of things."

She raised an eyebrow and cocked her head as she took in the sight of the beat-up laptop. "Um, are you sure? Because these look like…bullet holes."

"My coffee shop's…in a bad neighborhood." She shot him a look in response and he smiled again. "If there is anything you can recover from it, I would be really grateful."

For a moment, she considered calling him out on his very blatant lie, but decided to let it drop instead. After all, he'd been through enough. So with a nod, she picked up the laptop and rolled her chair over to face her monitor. She motioned towards a second rolling chair behind her. "You might want to sit down, this could take a bit." 

* * *

 

Oliver watched in fascination as her fingers flew across the keyboard, a blur of skin and dark-colored finger nails. She managed to get the bullet hole-ridden computer (because apparently, he couldn't come up with a decent lie to save his life) up and running within minutes, something he would never have been able to accomplish on his own. She leaned forward a bit, her fingers still moving rapidly over the keys with occasional clicks of her mouse thrown in for good measure while her eyes darted back and forth as she read through all the tech jargon showing up on ominous blue and black screens. He glanced over her figure, still slightly shell-shocked at the person before him.

When Walter told him to go see Felicity Smoak if he was having problems with his computer because she was the best IT Specialist in the entire company, Oliver wasn't entirely sure what to expect. Probably a woman around her mid- to late-thirties, with years of experience under her belt. Certainly not a girl younger than him with golden blond hair and quirky glasses, who rambled when she was uncomfortable and had "wicked fast" hacking skills—according to her. He smiled to himself (something that rarely happened these days) when she suddenly cleared her throat and directed his attention to the screen in front of her.

She started explaining to him how the laptop contained blueprints of the exchange building down in the Glades, owned by Unidac Industries. When he looked confused, she shot him a skeptical glance. "I thought you said this was  _your_  computer?"

"It is."  _Lie_.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Okay, well then in that case, you have yourself a bit of a problem, Mr. Que—Oliver."

"And why's that?"

"Because Walter Steele is involved in a bidding war against Unidac Industries for a new prototype machine that will help Queen Consolidated's Applied Sciences division pull way ahead of the competition, and you have landed yourself with the bullet-ridden laptop belonging to your step-father's main competitor." She rolled her eyes and didn't bother keeping the sarcasm from her voice. "That clear enough for you?"

Oliver's jaw tightened and he nodded. "Yeah. Crystal."

* * *

 

The vigilante landed with a soft thud on the rooftop of the exchange building. There was a party going on in the ground floor, all business suits and long gowns and champagne glasses—something he definitely hadn't missed when he'd been on the island—most likely for all of the investors and bidders. He shook his bow out with a quick, jab-like motion and stood on the edge of the roof, scanning every window of each surrounding building, searching for any signs of the sniper he had warned Detective Lance about. When a flash of light appeared in a window of one of the high-rises to the left of the building, Oliver took off running. He nocked a grappling arrow in one fluid motion and shot it towards the building as he ran. Rappelling down the zip-line, he smashed through the window beneath him, landing in a crouch on the glass-littered floor. The office was silent, and he knew he didn't have much time before the shooter made his nest in another part of the building. Oliver hurried to the stairwell door when a voice behind him stopped him in his tracks.

"You sure you want to go there? Lawton might've rigged the surrounding area with explosives or booby traps."

Oliver turned to find the girl from the other night leaning against the wall, twirling his arrow in her glove-clad hands. He pulled his bow up and aimed at her face. "What are you doing here?"

"Why, I came to help you, of course." She raised an eyebrow, her voice innocently surprised, as though she couldn't believe he could think she was there for any other reason.

"I thought I told you not to mess with me again." He spoke in a low, harsh growl, having forgotten to turn on the voice modulator. "Or did you not learn your lesson from the last time?"

She scoffed at him and pushed herself off the wall. "Actually, Arrow, you didn't say anything of the sort. You did promise to find me, though, and I have to say, I'm a bit disappointed that this is the first we've seen each other in over a week." She made a tut-tut sound and shook her head. "It's not polite to leave a girl to wait for more than three days, you know."

He refused to answer her—refused to give her the satisfaction of rising to her bait. He didn't have time for this, on either the floor above or below them there was a man with a sniper rifle who never missed a shot scoping out his next target. Clearing his throat, Oliver opened his mouth to speak when she held up a gloved hand, halting him. She shook her head once and then was still, head canted as though she were listening for something. He quieted and then heard what she had: the sound of footsteps hurrying quietly up the stairs. With a glance at each other, they ran towards the stairwell side by side, reaching the door together. Oliver wrenched it open and shot through, not bothering to wait and see if the girl followed. He looked up at the sound of a door slamming and muttered a curse before racing up the next three flights, the mystery girl on his tail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd the timeline's a little screwy in this fic, so this and the next chapter basically combines 1x03 "Lone Gunman" and 1x16 "Dead to Rights"...if it's confusing, don't worry, just ask and I'll answer any questions you guys have.
> 
> As always, enjoy!
> 
> ~Clara


	4. Taken Care Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our lady vigilante finds herself in need of some TLC, and the Arrow is the only one available to provide it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Again, I don't own these people any more than you guys do (unless the actual people who actually own the characters are actually reading this fic [which I doubt] in which case, well, yeah, you do own them way more than me) and all I do have to my name is the plot and the characterization of Felicity.

He slammed through the door, arrow notched and ready to fly when his companion stepped up next to him. She placed a hand on his forearm to catch his attention, and motioned for them to split up. At his nod, she slipped off to the right, molding herself to the shadows so well that even Oliver couldn't see her. He moved too, treading carefully with his bow taut as his eyes searched for Lawton. At the sound of a grunt from his right, he rushed over and let an arrow fly when the man came into view, fighting tooth and nail against the girl. She flipped away when he let the arrow loose, but the sniper wasn't quick enough and it grazed his shoulder. Crying out in pain, he panted, glaring at the girl hatefully. Oliver saw him reach for his gun but she was quicker. She kicked it away and dodged the punch aimed for the side of her head, landing her own fist in Lawton's stomach, forcing him to double over. In one fluid motion she took hold of his wrist and twisted, throwing him to the ground and pinning his elbow before breaking the appendage. The man shouted and she pushed him away from her, leaning heavily on his broken arm. She jumped up and glanced out the window, muttering a curse at whatever she saw below.

She turned to him then, her mouth open to say something when all of a sudden time seemed to slow down. Oliver watched as Lawton held up a handgun and aimed for the girl. Reacting instinctively, Oliver drew one of his arrows quicker than he could blink and shot Lawton in the eye, where the sniper's red-lit scope acted like a pirate's patch. The man's gun went off at the same time, and Oliver saw the girl stumble back, a hand on her waist and her jaw tight with pain. The vigilante shot forward and caught her before she fell, picking her up in his arms like a bride. He stepped over and saw what she had seen, chaos reigning in the ground floor of the exchange building with a host of police cars and sirens flooding the area. There would be no easy way to get out of there. He glanced down at the girl in his arms to find her gritting her teeth against the pain.

"So what's your almighty plan, Arrow? 'Cause I really don't think rappelling down is going to work out too well this time." Her voice came out harsh and rusty.

"Don't worry. I'll get us out of here. But I have to take you—"

"Don't you dare say the hospital. It's just a gunshot wound; I can get it myself."

"I wasn't going to say that I was taking you to the hospital," he bit out, letting his frustration get the better of him. "And besides, it's not just a gunshot wound; the bullets were laced a type of poison that will kill you if you don't get taken care of  _now_."

"And you're telling me that  _you're_  going to take care of me?" She tried to smirk, but he knew she was getting weak when her mouth only lifted halfway.

"I am, which I guess makes you the lucky one tonight," he quipped as he descended the stairwell, his footsteps pounding at breakneck speed.

She snorted, "Aren't we sure of ourselves?"

"We most certainly are." He looked down to see her eyes drifting shut. Hating himself the second he did it, he jostled her in his arms to keep her from passing out on him—right where she was shot.

"ARGH! What the fritz? That  _hurt_ , vigilante!" Her eyes popped open and fixed him with a furious glare as she bared her teeth against the pain.

"I need you to stay awake."

"Then  _ask me_  to do so instead of manhandling my wound, why don't you?"

He shook his head and continued walking. "Because if I just tell you, then you can say yes, but you won't have any control if you start to fall asleep regardless. Pain will keep you awake much better than words will."

She didn't say anything to that, choosing instead to glare at him and mumble something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like "stupid vigilantes being right." He decided to let it go, though, and kept heading towards the bike he'd parked in the alley. As he climbed on, he placed her in front of him, worried that if she sat behind, she'd slide right off in her weakened state. When he sat up behind her, she leaned back fully against him, and he felt the wetness of her blood seeping onto his suit. Trying, and failing, not to grow so worried at her rapid decline, he revved the engine and sped off into the night, a silent prayer on his lips for the girl in front of him.

* * *

"Digg! Get the gurney and suture kit out!"

John Diggle jumped up from where he was watching Oliver's computer and ran to do as his friend called, cursing under his breath when he saw the vigilante clear the stairs holding a girl in his arms bridal style. He grabbed a pile of towels and some pans while Oliver laid her gently on the metal table. Oliver shoved his hood back from his face, the grease paint wearing off a bit from around his eyes, and yanked off his gloves, throwing them to the floor in his haste. His fingers moved to the girl's vest where her blood was soaking through and lifted unusually uncertain eyes to Diggle's. The older man surveyed his friend's expression, surprised to see that the billionaire was almost asking Digg's permission to lift her shirt and care for the wound. John nodded once, and that was all Oliver needed before he set to work.

He pulled down the zipper on the leather vest that acted as a guard and grabbed a pair of scissors to cut the shirt away from her skin. The men worked together, their movements calculated and precise and efficient. Diggle set to cleaning the wound and putting pressure on it to reduce the amount of blood-loss. Oliver fumbled with the heart monitor equipment and carefully hooked the girl up to the machine, relief filling his chest when he heard the tell-tale beeping of a pulse. It was weak, but it was there. Leaving Digg to prepare the area and a needle for stitches, Oliver rummaged through his wooden box to find a bag of herbs he'd brought back with him from the island. He pulled out a few green leaves and ground them into a pulp before drawing it into a syringe.

Stepping over to stand by her head, he ran his fingers over her neck and collarbone before finding a prominent enough vein. Steadying himself, Oliver gently injected the healing plant mixture into her bloodstream while Digg bent over to stitch up the hole in her side. Oliver moved towards him, motioning with his hand that he would take care of it. The vigilante wove the thread through her skin carefully and methodically, never looking up from his task. When he finished, Digg handed him a pile of gauze and medical tape to cover the stitches. They stepped back afterwards, watching over the girl on the table in silence, waiting for her to wake up.

* * *

Felicity groaned, blinking open her eyes to a cavernous room dimly lit by utility lamps littered around the room. She scanned the space, taking stock of her surroundings when a voice by her feet alerted her to the fact that she wasn't alone.

"You're safe. Your wrists are free along with your ankles, your mask is still in place, and the graze on your hip has been sewn up and bandaged. You're connected to a heart monitor, but that's the only thing keeping you from walking out at any time. There's no need to worry," the voice soothed.

She turned her head to try and see who was there but had to sit up in order to do anything. The second she went vertical, pain lanced up her side and she groaned again, holding a hand to the offending spot. She felt a steadying hand at her shoulder and reacted on instinct, spinning around to disarm the person. The gunshot wound had taken more from her than she'd realized though, and instead of pushing off the person beside her, Felicity ended up clutching hold of his hand to stay upright. She had to bite her lip to keep from crying out and tightened her fingers around his. The hand she held squeezed back, albeit more gently.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the vigilante cautioned, parroting her earlier words back to her.

She scoffed, her voice halting. "Please; if you were me, you'd be doing the  _exact_  same thing."

"What makes you say that?"

She shot him a glare. "Because, Arrow, you and I aren't as different as you think we are."

It was his turn to snort in derision. "Yeah, except I can take care of myself in a fight."

Felicity's eyes narrowed dangerously behind her mask as she let go of his hand and turned fully to face him. " _Excuse_  me?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and stared back at her. "You heard me."

"Oh, I definitely  _heard_  you, I was just giving you a chance to rephrase yourself."

"And why would I do that?" His own eyes narrowed as he watched her stand, putting the table between them.

"Gee, let's have a history lesson, why don't we?" She held up her hand and started ticking off her fingers as she spoke. "I fought off a group of mercenaries bigger than your buddy standing behind me, I fought off Lawton and  _would have handled it_  if you hadn't interfered, and oh yeah, let's see, I pulled a  _freaking arrow_  out of  _my own shoulder_  after  _you_  put it there!" She was breathing hard and gripped the table to steady herself, since she still wasn't up to her full strength. "And that was all just the times when you've been there to witness it. I've been fighting a hell of a lot longer than you."

He scoffed, "All I heard was that every time you show up to one of my crime scenes, you end up getting hurt."

She raised an eyebrow at him. " _Your_  crime scenes? Wow, I didn't realize that you had sole possession over all the psychos in this city," she replied sardonically. "But may I also remind you that I got hurt both times  _because_  of you?"

"Oh, please—"

"Fine."

The vigilante started at her interruption, and seemed to glance back behind her at his friend—the one who had tried to ease her mind when she'd first woken up. "Fine?"

Felicity shrugged and pursed her lips. "Fine. You think I can't take care of myself, let me prove it to you."

"What, now?" He stared at her.

"Why not?" Felicity let go of the table and took three steps back to the table where his bow and arrows lay. "Tell you what, if you win, then I never show up to another one of 'your' crime scenes ever again. If  _I_  win, then you take back that comment about me taking care of myself in a fight, and stop complaining the next time I show up to save your sorry butt. Deal?" She held out a hand, pleased to see that she still had her gloves on.

He narrowed his eyes. "Win what?"

Turning to scoop up the longbow, she cocked her head, assessing it with her eyes while pulling at the string and aiming a bit. Gently letting it loosen, she tossed it to the vigilante, who looked as though he caught it by pure instinct. She smirked and turned back to his arrangement of arrows, with all sorts of different arrowheads. Picking up what seemed to be a pair of normal arrows, she turned back to face the man with a wide, shit-eating grin on her face.

"The fight, of course—that is, if you're not too chicken,  _Arrow_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long disclaimer, and the long wait, and I hope you enjoyed it! :)
> 
> ~Clara


	5. Showdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Arrow and Felicity Smoak get right down to it. It may not be smart, it may not be a good idea to be using her muscles again so quickly, but, well, they're a stubborn little pair...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow. I don't own Oliver Queen, Felicity Smoak, John Diggle or Tommy Merlyn. I only own my plot. Everyone else (including places) belongs to the nice people at the CW.

Oliver stared at her, feeling his anger rise with each passing second. Her mouth stayed in that infuriating smirk, taunting him, teasing him, tempting him. It was bad enough that he and Digg had had to change her shirt out for one of his (something she apparently had yet to realize) because hers had been all bloody, but he could really do without the attitude. Then again, it was  _her_  prerogative to lose in a fight after just waking up from a post-surgery nap. Apparently she thought she was ready for it, even though he had noticed her sway a bit when she first stood. Looking at her now though, she seemed the picture of health. That is, if health wore black fitted clothes, a black domino mask, black leather gloves and black boots. She stood tall, watching him watch her while twisting an arrow between the fingers of each hand. She was baiting him, and he knew that, and he knew that she knew that he knew that. So he made a decision and nodded once, but held up a hand to stop her from interrupting him as he spoke.

"If I win, you have to tell me how you found out about both the break-in at Queen Consolidated and the sniper tonight. Then—"

"Nope, no go." She shook her head and continued. "I refuse to put anyone in danger by revealing identities."

Oliver's jaw ticked. "If there's someone out there who has exclusive knowledge of my whereabouts every night then I have the right to know who it is."

"Why, so you can put an arrow in them?" She took a step forward, her hands visibly tightening around the shafts of the arrows. "I don't  _think so_ , vigilante."

"Look, whoever it is poses a real threat—"

"Not as much of a threat as I pose to you right now, Arrow." She cut him off with a growl and tensed, ready to fight. "Enough with deals and 'if you win or if I win' business. When I'm done with you, let's just say that the possibility of people discovering your true identity will become slim to none. We should probably hope you don't have a recognizable face to begin with, hmm?" And with that, she flew.

It was the only way he knew to describe how one second she was standing in front of him, smirking, and the next he was ducking as she brought an arrowhead too close to his ear for comfort. She jumped and rolled and punched, twirling the arrows as though they were extensions of her own arms and nicking him at every opportunity. She came at him with a fury as he blocked and punched and rolled on his own. They moved in tandem with each other, pulling and pushing with clenched fists and rounded kicks, empty bows and lethal arrows. She was aggressive, and skilled, and for a moment, Oliver doubted a little bit that he would be able to beat her. But then he saw her wounded side wide open, displaying the bandage that had started to stain a little red. He wouldn't be surprised if she had popped some of the stitches, and if she hadn't, well she certainly would soon. His fighter instincts took over and Oliver jabbed a fist at the spot, forcing her to stumble back, hold a hand to her side, and cry out in angered pain.

She glared at him with hatred in her blue eyes and he regretted the dirty move. As he opened his mouth to apologize, she silenced him with a growl. "You're going to pay for that, vigilante."

And she moved as lightning towards him, the arrows spinning in her fingers as she jumped and slashed downwards. He dodged the swipe at his face, and retaliated with a backhanded strike to her chin. The blow would have sent a less-skilled person flying, but the girl had ducked at the last second, and kicked a knee up into his lower torso that had him groaning and bending over—an opening he realized she was looking for. With fluid movements she hit his face back with an upwards palm strike and kicked a leg against the back of one of his calves, sweeping him to the floor. He landed with a thud on his back and felt the breath whoosh out of him with the impact.

She straddled his chest, about to land her final hit when he rolled his hips up and over, reversing their positions—her on her back and him looming over her. In the scuffle he'd swiped one of her— _his_ —arrows, and was about to draw his bow and declare victory when the sound of the heavy industrial metal door at the top of the stairs slamming open and his best friend's voice carried down into the space. Tommy Merlyn tripped down the stairs towards them, seemingly oblivious for the moment about what he'd just walked into.

"Hey, Ollie, I need you to look over these plans for the bar area because the designers sent—oh." The billionaire stopped short at the sight of Oliver hovering over the girl and the vigilante nearly groaned at the thought of the damage control he'd have to do now.

The girl took advantage of his distraction and slammed her hip against his side, flipping him onto his back and switching their positions  _again_. In the process, she stole back the arrow and pinned it against his windpipe, crossing it in an X-shape with the other one. She rested her weight against her knees as she bent over him, their faces mere inches apart. Oliver could feel the bottom tips of the arrowheads brushing against the underside of his jaw each time he breathed, and he knew he'd lost. With a grunt, he dropped his bow and tapped her calf twice to signal he was out. She stared at him with narrowed eyes for a few seconds longer before allowing the wildly fierce expression slide into a cocky smirk.

"I do believe that's what they call a victory, Mr. Queen." In one fluid motion, she rocked back onto the balls of her feet and rolled to the mats on his right side, looking over at him with all the smugness of a winner. Despite the display of complete self-satisfaction, Oliver thought he could see a hint of something lingering in her blue eyes, but it disappeared when she blinked, replaced by a mask of arrogance. "What, nothing to say, Oliver?"

He couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Not to mention the irritating tick of familiarity in the way she said his name. "You  _knew_? How—how long have you known?"

She scoffed, "oh please, Oliver Queen returns from the dead after five years on a 'deserted' island, and the same month a masked vigilante in green starts running around putting arrows in corrupt rich guys like some Robin Hood wannabe. I may be blonde, but I'm not that blonde."

Oliver looked over at her and sat up, drawing his legs to his chest and resting his forearms on the top of his knees. "You didn't say anything," he murmured, turning his face to look at her.

She closed her blue eyes instead of meeting his and smirked. "When would I have said anything?" She rolled her head over to the side. "When you were shooting an arrow in me, threatening me, saving my life, or sparring with me?"

"So you admit that I saved your life."

She rolled her eyes, but without malice. "Yes, Oliver, I admit that you saved my life. Does that boost your ego high enough?"

The corners of his mouth lifted at her response, and he noticed Tommy exchange a surprised glance with Digg over their heads. "Well, then I suppose that leaves me at an even bigger disadvantage, doesn't it?"

"Oh?"

"You've figured out who  _I_  am, but I still don't know who  _you_  are."

Her smirk softened into a smile that poked at the edges of his memories, and he looked away to try and figure it out. "Oh, Oliver, I've always known who you are. Ever since..."

He waited a beat for her to finish, and when she didn't, he glanced down at her, expecting to see blue eyes watching the ceiling and a small nose scrunched up in concentration trying to figure out when she had first known his identity. Instead though, she laid with her cheek against the mat, her eyelids closed and breathing shallow. Alarmed, Oliver jumped to a kneeling position beside her, running his hands over her neck and wrist, searching desperately for a pulse. His eyes caught a flash of red and he cursed when he saw the blood-soaked bandage covering her wound. Finally catching a faint heartbeat at the underside of her jaw, he drew her into his arms and lifted her, calling for Digg as he moved towards the medical bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're at the home stretch! I've got one last chapter, and then we're good. It's supposed to be an epilogue but I've been moving some things around so we'll see what happens. Thanks for reading!
> 
> ~Clara


End file.
